writing
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“That’s not how my other patients describe the voices they hear,” he said, his voice steady and reassuring. “It’s much different. In fact, I have never heard it described the way you just did.” “That’s good to know,” I replied, nodding my head with one quick, chin drop. He was an extraordinary psychiatrist. Usually, they
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The truth had long been concealed, Whispered a voice beyond the veil; In a grave manner she revealed, What had caused her heart to fail. She whispered of her sorrow, She’d been forced to confess a lie; Time no longer could she borrow, She had been condemned to die. Barefoot to the gallows she went,
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There are pieces that I have written that seem to write themselves. There are pieces that even several years later, I remember where I was and how I felt when I wrote them. There are pieces that the narration and music for the audio recording hit the emotional mark of the piece perfectly. Endlessness is
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“Where emptiness meets eternity” is a line from my poem The Death of a Heart, from my first book. I don’t know where things I write come from. I am clairaudient and some sort of medium, so I hear (and see) spirits, (which I plan to blog about sometime) so I can’t say if it
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Sometimes trudging through my word doc files is a depressing state. Abandoned stories untold, the character’s corpses cluttering up the hard drive. I have been known to resurrect them, even years later. This usually happens after a visit to their perpetual state of limbo (their file) and I remember why I created them in the
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I sat on the edge of my pool, feet in the water, notebook on my lap, pen scratching in an attempt to write, yet my efforts were met by an invisible wall of profound stillness. After a few attempts, I put my pen aside. I took a deep breath and turned my focus to my
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I’ve been looking through my old word doc files and finding things I wrote, saved, and basically forgot about. The piece below: The Heart Remembers: Love and Past Lives is one from what I am now calling: The Forgotten Files. It was written several years ago. ***~~~*** The Heart Remembers: Love and Past Lives
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“Do you want Mum’s old books?” my father said, his eyebrows raised in question. His gray-blue eyes met mine. “They meant an awful lot to her.” “Sure Dad,” I replied, “I’ll take them.” I knew the books meant a lot to my mother, although, I wasn’t exactly sure why, other than the fact she loved
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Living a magical life is a choice, much like the choice to be happy. Life will not always accommodate that choice as things can and will happen that are not ideal nor desirable, but the choice remains. A magical life is lived with intention and understanding that one creates one’s reality. Creating one’s reality is
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Most who are on a spiritual path are familiar with the term shadow work. It is the act of shining the light of our consciousness on parts of ourself we have rejected and pushed into what is called the shadow. It is referred to as the shadow because it is unconscious; the parts of ourself
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When we awaken, we become aware of our true nature: we are immortal spiritual beings in a human body having an experience in a third dimensional reality. This is why many use the term, spiritual awakening, as it is the awakening to the spiritual nature of one’s being. Another aspect of that nature is: we are all
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Hushing the voices, a dark quill shattered. When I listed my books from last to first and realized their titles formed a complete sentence, I was stunned. It was not something I consciously planned, and yet there it was: a cathartic trio of books wrapped up in a sentence. It seemed more like a message
SB LACROIX 